


Two Fool Things (After Each Other)

by butch_snufkin



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Slash, not too much tho cause I’m like that, rosie m banks wants what I have, some bally uhhhhhh angst, this fic is a part of the happy endings only squad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-01-04 09:29:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21195425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butch_snufkin/pseuds/butch_snufkin
Summary: Time after time, it would prove that their places really were beside one another.////////random j&w fics posted in no chronological order. I am not above writing jeeves and wooster fanfiction and I am also not above being a sappy bitch





	1. Purple and Green

**Author's Note:**

> first time writing for jeeves and wooster, this poor dead fandom. It ain't much but it's honest work. my tumblr is @butch-snufkin, where I frequently cry about my love for jeeves so come check it out

Mr. Wooster's attempts at hiding his most horrendous clothing pieces have once again proven futile. I must admit I don't quite understand how he thinks he's going to get away without my noticing; I am the one who takes care of his laundry and dresses him, after all. It seems this fact has not yet caught his attention. 

He is quite persistent about which clothes he will and will not have, so much so that he gave something of a tantrum over the matter when I was first employed to him. Most fortunately, these days he's much easier to convince, especially after I've gotten him out of the soup, as he often calls it. 

I still haven't deducted where he finds such dreadful things. The manner of the outfits is unrivaled by all except, perhaps, a glance into the front window of Eulalie Lingerie. (Roderick Spode may be respected by his group of fascists, but the man is rather struggling in his side job.) Mr. Wooster has refused to reveal to me the origin of his wardrobe horrors, most likely on the suspicion that I would forbid him from returning to the establishment in question. 

He would be absolutely correct. 

This evening's mishap was of a rare kind. You see, Mr. Wooster had been requested to retire briefly to Woolam Chersey by his aunt Agatha. It was also her demand that he arrive and stay alone. I never was told her reason, but any informed person would know that questioning the old woman was extremely risky. It simply was not in the best interests of anyone liking to keep up their physical health.

I had just emptied the kettle when the flat door burst open, the sounds of Mr. Wooster grumbling and pulling off his overcoat drifting into the kitchen. I went out to take his coat and hat, and any luggage he had returned with. He brightened immensely upon seeing me, an easy grin gracing the previously firm Wooster features. 

"I do say, Jeeves, it's dashed lovely being home again," he said as he hung his hat on the stand, waving me off when I tried to do it myself. I busied myself instead with the tea tray, which I had brought out with me and placed on the table.

I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. "Indeed, sir. I trust you had a pleasant journey?"

He sighed and made a spectacle of shrugging and glancing around the place. "Oh, same old shenanigans down at Chersey. Bingo was there, trying to scrape up some work. Has his eyes set on some city girl. Choir performer, this one." He nodded to punctuate his words. "Could be going places. Any telegrams?" 

"No, sir. The landlord visited briefly to thank you for giving up on your nightly piano, but when I informed him you were out of town he became most disappointed." I straightened to hand him a cup and plate. Our fingers brushed when he took it from me, and I realized with a start that I had forgotten to put on my gloves. Too late for it now.

Mr. Wooster sighed. "No accounting for taste, I suppose." 

A polite agreement was halted on my tongue as I glanced down and noticed one of the most hideously patterned cummerbunds I had ever had the displeasure of setting my eyes on. Purple and green paisley. I was very grateful I wasn't holding tea, as the sight alone was making me feel a bit light-headed. 

The young master must have noticed whatever expression of disgust I had on, and looked down at himself to find the object of my disapproval. "Oh, come off it, Jeeves. Tuppy was throwing out some old things and offered it to me. I got quite a good few days' use out of it, too." He returned the now empty cup to my hands. I was careful to not touch him, while simultaneously trying to act as if that was not in fact what I was doing. 

"Sir," I began, then faltered slightly. I brought a hand up against my temples, having finally torn my vision away from the cummerbund. 

"Really, Jeeves, you look as if you've seen a ghost. Do you intend to be this way as long as I have it on?" 

I found my voice after that, and after clearing my throat, replied: "I can assure you, sir, the condition brought upon by this garment is in no way of my choosing." 

"Oh, pish posh." Mr. Wooster bent to pick up his case and headed toward his bedroom. He dropped the case onto the bed and flipped the hatches, beginning to empty it of its many contents. He turned back towards me suddenly, giving me a look-over from top to bottom. I endeavored to stand a bit straighter under his gaze, although my posture had been in need of no improvement. 

I wasn't too blind to recognize that there was indeed something odd about the change in my own demeanor when doing my best to perform in a satisfactory way for Mr. Wooster. It was as if I was a cheating schoolchild who was trying to avoid punishment from a teacher. But not quite like that. Above all, I wished to make Mr. Wooster as happy as he could be. 

A valet's duties are difficult, and there are many I've met who are content to only offer the bare minimum to their employers. It's true that I hadn't intended to be quite so involved at the start, but something had quite clearly changed since then. 

Well. Not just something. Not just anything average, really. I was extremely aware of the situation, but I was also entirely unprepared to call attention to it. 

Mr. Wooster seemed to work out whatever he was wondering. "I say, Jeeves, if it'll really bother you so much..." He unwound the cummerbund and handed it over to me. "Please destroy this as soon as you're able. I expect burning it will be the best course of action, what?" 

I tried to keep all visible relaxation to a minimum. "Very good, sir. Thank you." 

He flashed an exceptionally charming grin at that, and I allowed myself a small smile in return. 

As hideous as that piece of clothing was, I must submit that I did not get rid of it immediately, as I had planned. Later that night as I was by my bedside, unbuttoning my vest, a thought came to me. Just a glint of an idea. 

This one I did not extinguish as quickly as I normally do, and allowed it to ruminate for a few moments. It was late, and dark, and Mr. Wooster had returned home tired from his travels, and I tired from missing him. Oh, it was indeed my job, but it would be a lie to say I didn't enjoy taking care of him.

The paisley cummerbund still sat on my bedside table, waiting for its inevitable end. The fabric was soft under my hands, and even after just a few days it already carried Mr. Wooster's scent. I pressed it against my nose, inhaling deeply and letting the gentle smell waft into my dreams and linger there for the night, Mr. Wooster's smile the final thing on my mind before I fell asleep.


	2. Twirling Around

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *tries to narrate like bertie and fails*

Tuppy threw his head back and downed the rest of his whiskey, cringing slightly at the sensation. “So, no more Totleigh for you then?” His nasally voice was slurred slightly, and he was having a difficult time keeping his eyes all the way open. 

I sighed and stared into my empty glass. “Not for a while, I’m sure. At least I won’t be invited to Spode and Madeline Basset’s redo wedding. If they even have one. You’ll be staying away too, I expect.” 

Tuppy snorted. “Damn well right. I don’t fancy having my limbs removed from my person.”   
I leaned back in my chair, drumming my hands on the bar top. “I should be getting back now, I think.” 

Tuppy nodded absentmindedly and picked up a second drink. 

“Are you quite sure you should be going out, Mr. Wooster? The rain is picking up again.” The clerk looked me up and down as I shrugged on my coat. 

I pushed my hat down on the Wooster head and gave a small salute. “Nothing old Bertram can’t handle. Good night.” 

“Good night, Mr. Wooster,” the clerk replied with a respectful bow of the head. 

They were quite right about that weather-rain hit the pavement and splashed back up, making tiny little fountain type things all over the ground. Water collected in the gutters and ran in miniature rivers down the roads.

Luckily it wasn't too far of a walk back to Berkeley Mansions, and the comforting vision of my man and a warm cup of tea offered motivation. Not to mention is the was near freezing out and I had little in the way of protection.   
I bounded across the street, clasping my hat against my head with one hand, my cane still clutched in the other. Wind spun piles of amber and orange dead leaves through the air like birds trying to escape the cold. 

Something happens as the season turns once again to winter. The trees have all shed their green coats and sit barren, looking rather pathetic as they wait for spring to allow their blossom. All the fallen leaves that haven't been swept up are no longer crisp under the heel of a shoe, but slick and moldy. The perfect catalyst for a most disastrous trip, if one were to put his foot down the wrong way. 

And of course, I did exactly that. 

As I stepped onto the kerb of Berkeley Mansions, I paid no heed to the scattered leaves of the exact variety I described to you. I got a bit caught up in the idea of changing into dry clothes. The leaves under the sole of my shoe slid along the pavement as I took my next step, causing my ankle to twist in a way I felt all too graphically. 

I plummeted towards the ground in a slowed-down version of reality, and I momentarily braced myself for the inevitable snap of bone. To my surprise (and luck), it never came. I landed on my back, the impact sending the air whooshing out of my lungs. Electric bolts of pain ran up my leg. Not broken, but still hurting like hell. 

My vision was swirling-a mix of pain and raindrops falling into my eyes. I was vaguely aware of the bent position my body was in and tried to mold it into something like a fetal position. 

The main door to the flats slammed open, and a proper but mildly terrified voice called out, 

"Mr. Wooster!" 

I groaned in response. I'm usually more eloquent. 

Jeeves knelt down next to me, concern barely penetrating his calm and stoic demeanor. "Are you alright, sir?" His voice was more panicked than he probably would have liked. 

I tried to force a charming smile, but I was too preoccupied with getting air to and fro' the lungs. "Perfectly," I reassured, though it wasn't very convincing, as I sounded like an extremely heavy smoker. "I think-" I gulped and tried to focus on forming simple thoughts. "I just need to lay here for a moment." 

"Sir, I really cannot allow you to continue to lay in the street like this. You'll catch cold." 

I pulled my injured leg closer to my body and cringed at the pins and needles. "Hardly in the street, Jeeves. It's the sidewalk." 

Despite my protests, he was already scooping a hand behind my back to help me up. I scrambled for my cane and gripped it tightly, all the while hoping I wouldn't break it. Trying to stand with one functioning foot is more difficult than it should be. In the back of my mind I was wishing Jeeves would just carry me up to the flat. He was definitely able; I had no doubt in my mind that he was strong enough. 

If I wasn't in dreadful pain, I would absolutely be playing up this injury as much as possible. With the way things were shaping up, I probably wouldn't even have to. However, getting a rise out of Jeeves was never as fun when I was suffering for it. 

I leaned most of my weight against his side as we walked, paying no mind to the rigid way he held my elbow, as if he was barely restraining himself from pushing me back to a more professional distance. Servant and master only. 

By the time we had conquered Berkeley's front stairs I was positively exhausted. If all of five feet was this bad, the flights in the complex sounded like murder. Hopefully the lift, which had been on the fritz for the past week, would be up and running by now. 

Lo and behold, it was. Aside from the ease of access, the lift also promised less human interaction, something I was dreading. I was sure that I could fake my usual chipper tone for a few minutes, but even that was sounding like a monumental task. 

The halls were more or less empty, the tenants all driven inside their rooms for a relaxing night. One or two workers quietly passed by, avoiding eye contact, as per their duty. Standoffish chaps, they were. Part of their job though, I expect. 

I stood awkwardly as Jeeves fiddled with the room key he'd pulled from his pocket. I realized suddenly that he had come outside still wearing his green apron. He hadn't even stopped to take an umbrella. Something strange and fluttering erupted in my chest as I thought of him spotting my fall from the window and immediately coming to the rescue. 

The rain had sufficiently soaked the both of us while we were out there. Didn't help that I had taken so long to walk inside. A few strands of Jeeves' normally slicked back hair had fallen into his eyes, and I lifted the arm resting across his shoulders and combed them back into place. He met my gaze, looking a bit startled. He quickly glanced around behind us, making sure no one was around to see. A force of habit, mostly. 

The door finally clicked open and we stumbled inside, the way we clung together and moved as one reminding me of some two-headed beast from a fairy tale. I tossed my hat onto the stand, a feat I had been perfecting over the last few months. Jeeves locked the door behind us, and then he did lift me up, holding me like a new bride. 

I pressed a kiss just beneath his jaw. "My savior once again." 

The somewhat smug smile was apparent in his tone when he responded, "Of course, Bertram.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sprained my ankle a couple days ago and it sucked so enjoy this chapter in my honor


	3. Dream Til the Sunshine Wakes You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a short little thing because I have literally so many drafts for this series I need to get done

It was about noon, and I had rolled out of bed not three hours ago. Despite catching my fill of the forty winks, I felt near to dozing off again. I was stretched on the sofa with a volume of Spinoza, one I had frequently seen Jeeves thumb through. By the way he praised it, I expected something more gripping, but the stuff was really dull. Long gone were my days of scripture knowledge prizes and inhaling one novel after another. All to do with growing up, I'd guess.

Sunlight flitted in through the open curtains, working quite a spell on the Wooster noggin and reducing the ink on the pages to black smears I couldn't make heads or tails of. It was a delightfully warm day and it was shaping up to be deliciously peaceful, a rare happening in the Wooster-Jeeves household. No telegrams, no unexpected ringing of doorbells. Not even a single phoning. 

As this thought passed briefly through the mind, a polite knocking sounded from the other side of the door. It hardly jolted me from my drowsiness, and I continued my journey through the think, syrupy haze that promised a relaxed nap. 

I was vaguely aware of Jeeves floating out of the kitchen and exchanging a few words with whomever was at the door. Next thing I knew he was hovering over me, silent as always. His hand brushed over my left shoulder just briefly, and I let a smile fly. 

"Telegram from Mrs. Gregson." He held it out towards me. 

I eyed him warily. "I can't read, Jeeves," I insisted, and let the e.s close again. I fancied I saw him smirk when I said it, but it had happened too quickly to catch.

He cleared his throat. "'Blithering nephew, come immediately must meet daughter of noble couple. No excuses see you presently.'

I pulled a groan from the depths of my chest and pushed myself up by my elbows. "Well, isn't that the rummiest thing to hear on a golden morning such as this?"

Jeeves inspected the telegram further, squinting at it. "An eligible bachelorette will hopefully be no issue. Mrs. Gregson would likely be quite agitated if I arrived with you." 

I pulled the Wooster corpus into a standing posish and stretched out. Of course, Aunt Agatha and her strong opinions. Typical of her to ruin my nap like this. "I don't think it would be too bold of me to say that she'll just have to get used to you eventually. I mean, dash it! You aren't going anywhere." I gave him a look.

"It was not my plan to be elsewhere than with you." He took the liberty of brushing some invisible dust off my shirt, then with fussing over my collar. "Still, I think it best if I remain here for this ordeal."

I sighed and did some rolling of the eyes as well - mostly for show, though I didn't try to conceal that the idea of walking right into my Aunt Agatha's lioness jaws without Jeeves at my side made me rather put out. 

Jeeves hovered behind me as I slipped on jacket and hat. "Phone me if you stay past tonight." 

I wiggled on the gloves next. "Yes, yes. I won't forget." 

He made to open the door for me, but I laid a hand over his on the doorknob, halting him in his tracks. With my free hand I pulled him down by the necktie and kissed him soundly, and barely refrained from saying something idiotic like 'I think I'm jolly well in love with you, Reggie.' All that had been sorted out rather a long time ago. 

He looked very gently down at me, and I returned with what was surely a very Madeline Bassett-ish gaze. "One more?" I pleaded. He obliged me, as always. "And another?" Again, he entertained me. 

"I only pray you don't return with a bride," he quipped, resting his forehead against mine. 

My heart gave a boyish thrill at the reminder that we were each other's. A bally odd thing for it to still take such an effect after all this time of being together, I thought. I hummed softly. "Then one more, for luck and all that?"

One moment we were connected at the lips once again, and I really did feel like the luckiest chappie alive. The next, Jeeves was pushing me out the door and towards the lift, both of us laughing. I went forward with a spring in my step and a pleasant warmth lingering on my mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from 'goodnight vienna' because that song really does slap


	4. Neither Do They Rain or Glow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all I want for christmas is for fic authors in the jeeves/wooster tag to put a warning on their porn

When Jeeves first came into my humble household, I promised myself I would remain an independent man. Valets were there to darn laundry and all that rot, nothing more. They were like the statuettes on the mantle my aged r. Aunt Dahlia is so fond of smashing: easily replaceable. I had known chappies who went through gentlemens' personal gentlemen in mere months. I wasn't so much like that. The fellows down at the agency are polite, but they start to get huffy when you're in there more than once a year. 

I was smashed out of my noggin when Jeeves came floating into Berkley Mansions, six feet and five inches of the old feudal spirit. We Woosters never abandon our pride, but even young Bertram must admit he was rather intimidated by Jeeves, gentle hands and quiet steps and all. I got used to him rather quickly, luckily. He was most agreeable in the young master's oddities. 

Well, these days he's been more than just agreeable, but I've mentioned all that already. If you are in need of a refresher, you may take one briefly before continuing. 

This particular incident happened rather early in our conjoinment as two men of iron. I had forgotten my reluctance towards Jeeves by this point, as the man had already pulled me out of some thick soup very nicely. 

I had taken a day golfing with some old pals of mine, on my own. Since this sitch had taken place I learned having Jeeves with me was never a bad move. I was standing precariously on the edge of a pond, lifting my club, when Oofy and Barmy snuck up behind me and gave a good shove. The corpus landed in the freezing February water with an unceremonious splash, and I was forced to walk home soaked to the bone, Oofy and Barmy laughing themselves sick the whole way. 

I was too tired to get the old asses back, as I had my mind fixed on a hot bath and maybe a brandy and soda. I had barely swung open the front door when Jeeves was right there, ushering me into the washroom. If I hadn't known better, I might have ventured to say he looked a bit concerned. 

He never asked me what had happened, but I tittered about it to him as I sat shivering on my bed, watching as he pulled warmer clothes out of the wardrobe. I pulled my towel tighter around my shoulders, grimacing at the absolutely scrummy feeling of pond water exiting my ear canal. 

Jeeves handed over a set of pajamas and a bath robe, and suddenly I felt a flood of warmth all over. Jeeves had proved himself a loyal companion in the past, but this experience was unlike any we'd shared yet. 

"Jeeves," I started before I could think too rationally about it. 

"Sir?"

"Jeeves, are we - are we friends?" The question was a bit heavy in my mouth, and I didn't much like taste. 

This seemed to shock him a bit, but he at once composed himself. He drew his posture up straight as could be. Then something miraculous happened: Jeeves slipped. Just for a moment I saw it, but he had momentarily discarded the stuffed frog whatsit and turned more alive. 

"If you desire it, sir, I would give no discouragements."

I chewed my lips. "Would that be alright with you?" 

He didn't say that his opinion didn't matter. He didn't try to remain vague on my subject. 

"Sir, it would please me immensely."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another shorter one but the concept had been on my mind for a while. I have more drafts to work on BUT I'd really like to do a holiday chapter in the next few days so we'll see I guess 
> 
> I kno I hardly ever respond to comments,,, I never know what to say lol   
-_- but I'm reading them and y'all are so nice! tbh I never expected anyone to read this fic so it makes me happy to see some regulars 
> 
> also stephen fry is 6'5" and honestly I think that's outrageous. no one should be that tall (this post made by short people gang)


	5. Long Winding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> v short one but I just hit 3000 words on the j&w wip I'm hoping to post by the end of this week so... gay rights I guess
> 
> i KNOW i am not observing any continuity in this series, especially since the second chapter established that they weren't in a relationship until a while after the tie that binds but just roll with it

It was on our fifth lap that Jeeves grabbed my wrist and pulled me along to the two-seater, young Bertram practically flying in the wind behind. Jeeves was taller than I, and with longer legs, and though his gait was nothing if not perfectly graceful, he was much faster than I could have hoped to keep up with. Our luggage was already packed and stacked nicely in the rear of the car. I shall never understand Jeeves' excellent foresight, but I know better by now than to complain. When Jeeves is right, he's right. 

I didn't even pause to open the door, instead throwing myself into the seat in a manner which must have looked very uncomfortable to onlookers. Jeeves, miraculously, took the same route, putting a hand on the door top and heaving himself up and into the driver's seat in one motion. He wasted no time in starting the motor and pressing on the gas so hard I felt the Wooster body biff back against the seat. In moments we were off, leaving behind the recently reunited Bassett-Spode party, and the group of relatives who stood on the grass outside the church, shaking their fists as we sped away. I watched them standing there until the car turned a corner and they faded into the distance. Jeeves eased down on the gas, as it looked like we weren't being followed. 

We sat in silence for a good many miles, catching our respective breaths and trying and failing to make sense of all this muckery that had gone on. It had been a whirlwind of a week, and the y.m. was positively tickled at the thought of returning home to a quiet, cozy bachelor household.

I dared to glance over at Jeeves. We hadn't done much in the way of talking lately - as I had just been engaged to two women at once (namely M. Bassett and F. Craye), and my presence was required left and right. Being attached at the hip to two beazels from dawn to dusk gave me rather a better appreciation of Jeeves' gentle aura. 

He looked back at me with a charming smile, and I looked back at the looker with an expression that surely possessed all the qualities of a hollow-minded squirrel. He took his right hand,which had been holding down his hat and held my chin loosely between his fingers. He wasn't wearing his leather riding gloves, and his hands were a pleasant shade of warmth. 

The two-seater was still accelerating at a considerable speed, and as Jeeves was no longer attending to said hat, it tossed off his head and flew behind us, the wind carrying it all the way until it wasn't more than a measly black speck in the distance. We had both turned out heads to watch it go, and as soon as our eyes met again, we were struck by what an absolute piffle of a sitch this all was. From Plumbo Jumbo to fake seizures and illegal kangaroos, it was enough excitement to last old Bertram several lifetimes. 

We began laughing, first a titter and then a guffaw, and found we really couldn't stop. We had narrowly escaped once again, and pulled off a heist enough to gain us ample quiet time. It was like shedding a particularly uncomfortable evening jacket after an awkward dinner party which you might have been invited to by mistake. It was wonderful. 

I threw both my arms around his fantastic shoulders and kissed him squarely on the mouth. It certainly wasn't the first time I'd done as much, and luckily Jeeves had enough sense to put on the brakes before we crashed into something or other. The present arrangement wasn't too much to write home about. We were both still covered in pipe gum and whatever else had been rotting beneath Totleigh Towers. I had gotten the worse of it. The suit was probably ruined and Jeeves would likely be pouty about it at some point. 

I pulled back and gazed, utterly transfixed, into his eyes, experiencing what I believe those poet chappies might call "the joining of souls" or some rot. It was delightful, but ultimately lasted a few seconds before we righted ourselves and continued on our way. We were, after all, in the middle of a country road, although luckily no one had been around to witness our brief display of public whatsit. 

I sat up in my seat, feeling very content with my situation. I glanced back at Jeeves again, not thinking he would meet my gaze, but instead just to look at him. He did stare back at me, though, and we shared a private grin as the tires of the two-seater crackled along the concrete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been ranking all j&w episodes on a gay scale at my tumblr @butch-snufkin and I am literally begging u all to read them if u haven't yet 
> 
> Part 1 (https://butch-snufkin.tumblr.com/post/190155450449/jeeves-and-wooster-series-1-episodes-ranked-by)
> 
> Part 2 (https://butch-snufkin.tumblr.com/post/190167521674/jeeves-and-wooster-series-2-episodes-ranked-by)
> 
> Part 3 (https://butch-snufkin.tumblr.com/post/190285216549/jeeves-and-wooster-series-3-episodes-ranked-by)
> 
> Part 4 is on its way, just taking awhile


	6. Warm Honey and Milk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally have no memory of writing the last two chapters or uploading them. also supposed to take place during the tie that binds

The Wooster corpus slumped on the edge of the freshly linened guest bed, staring down at the meticulously polished shine of black dinner shoes. I fancied I could see my reflection in them a bit, but it looked distorted, about as muddled as I felt. If the bottom of my stomach hadn't fallen out somewhere on the staircase, it was about to make its escape via clawing up my throat. My lips twitched a bit, whether in preparation for a nice vomiting or a refreshing sob I couldn't tell. 

I kept my eyes purposely trained away from Jeeves, who was still standing in the washroom doorway, his fingers curling thoughtfully around the plunger he had been shoving down the tub drain all day. If I had been a less knowledgeable man, I might have said his form was held in a way that suggested great discomfort. I knew I was rather making a fool of myself in front of him, but I was nowhere near strong enough to put on the cheery smile and sunny disposish for him. This Wooster felt absolutely defeated. Could a paragon, even one such as Jeeves, hope to take a swing at the hornet's nest that was the state of current affairs at Totleigh Towers. 

My reflection in the wingtips turned even blurrier as salty tears gathered in the corners of my eyes. I felt my breath getting away from me, and I knew I was really about to have a cry, the kind deemed inappropriate to participate in for anyone over the age of seven. Before I got too lost in it, Jeeves shoved a glass of something or other into my hand. It was cold enough to shock my system, and momentarily distracted me. I reached up and tipped the stuff down my throat. His hand might have been guiding me, but I was too busy wondering when he had the chance to mix this up to pay much attention. 

It wasn't a restorative, just a spot of stiff brandy. I supposed it wasn't meant to provide the same effects, just to offer a distraction before the interlude of waterworks began. I was still breathing a might heavily, and I hadn't realized I'd been gripping the glass so frightfully hard until Jeeves tried to pry it from my fingers.

I watched, somewhat entranced by the gleam of the lamp in the glass, as he set down the empty cup somewhere on the carpet near his feet. He was kneeling in front of me now, lifting my hands protectively into his and massaging away the stress that was causing my fingernails to dig into my palms.

"Please do not injure yourself, sir," he whispered, his voice completely unguarded by a servant's mask, which shocked me. I might have even called it a coo. He opened his mouth, hesitated, then promised, "It will be alright." I couldn't recall Jeeves ever being so gentle with the y.m., and I'm afraid it sent the faucets behind my eyes spilling over once again. 

My embarrassment about crying in front of one's manservant was only rivaled by how deep in the soup I was. I had drowned in the s. by now., with not a fishing hook in sight to latch onto. And Jeeves was still there with me, steady as a rock while I unceremoniously cried out all the body's stored up liquid. I had rather dreamed of us holding hands like this, although in my fantasies I was more dignified.

Jeeves let out a quiet breath. There might have been words whispered somewhere within it, but I didn't hear. His form shimmered for a mo. and then he was sitting next to me on the edge of the bed, pulling me to rest the loaf against the broad Jeevesian shoulder. He refrained from apologizing for taking liberties, not that I minded. I hadn't ever touched Jeeves so much in my life, and it wasn't unwelcome. He felt most solid against me, and warm.

I cried for a while more, still absolutely despaired, but I'll be dashed if the smell of whatever particularly fruity cologne he had on wasn't akin to mother's biscuits, or whatever mother used to serve on a rainy day. One of his hands touched delicately the hair at the back of my neck, worrying it between his fingers. I shivered a bit. 

"Sir, would you like to retire to bed now?" he asked quietly. I was suddenly aware of how close his lips were to my ear. 

I gasped like a dying fish and jerked away from him to swipe at my soggy eyes. Despite how roughly I'd just jumped off of him, he kept a hand firmly on my shoulder as if he were concerned I might get even more jumpy and launch into orbit. "No, no." I insisted, my cracking voice betraying the sure tone I wanted him to hear. "I'll be fine, as you say. Just tip-top."

I could tell by how tight the stitching between his eyebrows was that he wasn't the slightest bit convinced. "If you are decided, sir," he said with some hesitation, his voice not as coddling as it was before, but not all business as usual either. He stood and I almost thought he let his hand linger for a moment longer, until he straightened and toddled off to the bathroom, presumably to play with the bath drain some more. 

I flopped backwards onto the bed and dragged myself up high enough to reach the pillows. My clothes felt too heavy and too hot, and the remnants of the tears were drying on my face, making my skin stiff. Once I got tired of staring at the clock hands ticking around, I shut my eyes tight and wondered if I could disintegrate on demand. 

Jeeves must have assumed I'd fallen asleep, because soon his hands were tucking blankets up under my chin. I snaked out and grabbed his wrist. He leaned back a bit in surprise. 

"I don't _want_ to be married, Jeeves," I whispered, my voice somehow even more hoarse now. If I thought I'd had any drop of water left in me, a few might have leaked out the e.s as I spoke, but they thankfully remained dry as the dickens. 

He softened a bit at my words. "I know sir," he said, turning his hand a bit so our fingers were clasped. "Please get some rest, sir, and we can solve this problem when we are feeling at our best."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can write a total of one genre and its hurt/comfort


	7. I Remember the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't have a set date for this chapter but the tennessee waltz was released in 1947 so it's sometime around 1947

The evening was restless as could be. Surroundings were quite bleak and unmoving, so that is to say, it was Wooster Self which was so restful-un. I lay stretched out on the chesterfield, still donned in afternoon wear despite the unacceptable hour of the ack emma, smoking a pensive gasper (gaspers being the fanciest thing in stock as of those days). The phonograph wailed out something syrupy and simple. I'd never heard it before, so it must have been Jeeves who purchased the record. 

The next inhale of smoke was especially savored. With the lights dimmed and the bod pleasantly sleepy, the clouds of ash left behind a gentle buzz, like a hive of bees playing chess just between the eyebrows. 

Jeeves had gone out for bridge at the old J. Ganymede, leaving one B. Wooster quite alone - to pine desolate and all that. My long-suffering valet (among other things) was the particular apple of my eye (I normally shouldn't like to actually utilize the term 'dream rabbit,' but I was near soppy enough for it now). I'd hardly a glimpse of him all day, as I'd been called up to Aunt A's household for a luncheon and a strict reminder that I should be multiplying and populating the earth. Not something one likes to hear from the nearest and dearest. Jeeves had sent me off with a sympathetic pout and probably the most sensible peck he'd ever laid on the Wooster lips. Perhaps he was still rattled about the stars and stripes bow tie Aunt Dalhia had sent as a joke.

She was off touring the North American continent and thought the July holiday and all its adornments were ridiculous, hence her finding the gaudiest piece of fabric out there to send. I'd be dogged if she didn't have the thing custom made. I put it on and paraded around the flat for a bit, in the spirit of the gag. Jeeves was fully unamused. 

I hummed along to the record, never mind that I had no knowledge of the tune. The low buzzing of the throat matched the bees, which had become slightly more energetic but not uncomfortable. I purged my mind of aunts. One did not like to have his daydreams of romance cut short by the unexpected arrival of the blood relations. In fact, I was trying especially hard to forget about all that nonsense Aunt Agatha had put in my head earlier, about how terribly improper it was for a gentleman of my age to be unmarried.

I let out an annoyed huff to nothing in particular. I didn't care much for what the law said about chaps loving other chaps. I was as married as I'd ever be, and quite happily. But somewhere in the back of the mind, Bertram was unsatisfied. Part of me longed to live in the type of world where I could marry Jeeves in a fantastic ceremony, to which I could invite all of my friends and perhaps some of my enemies as well, just to show them how perfectly blissful I was. I would have even settled for holding his hand in town. 

We'd done that once before, on the only trip to France we'd ever taken. There were certain parts of the cities where no one would raise an eyebrow or even stare at you from behind their newspaper while trying to pretend that they were not, in fact, staring. We were both of us frightfully shy about taking our love beyond the stuffy walls of 3A, Berkeley Mansions, although it was usurped by the giddy excitement I found myself overtaken with as we trotted along. 

A nice memory, though it made the return to London all the more painful. 

The phonograph continued to play.

The old ticker ticked as steadily as ever, although at present it felt strained against my chest, like I would soon choke on it if I didn't stop with this outpouring of emotion. I rubbed at the spot mindlessly, just below my collarbone, and coughed into the haze. The corpus had reached its limit, and protested soundly against the thought of scuffling off to bed, especially without a warm Jeeves there to keep company. 

It was late, but he likely wouldn't be back for a while. Hours, perhaps. 

I snubbed out the gasper despite it only being half finished. It had - mind the metaphor - turned to ash between my lips. I flung an arm across the forehead to cover the eyes, having tired of staring up at the ceiling through the smoke. It was peaceful, like a swim through fresh cream (something I have never in my life experienced, and feel conflicted on the subject of whatever it is something I would like to experience or not).

I breathed as deep as the ashy air allowed, hoping it would be refreshing. It wasn't. Mostly it felt like there was less and less room for the Bertram's heart to beat. It was painful.

The lock of the front door twisted and clicked, and opened quietly. I sighed in relief. There could still be a chance for a partially satisfying sleep tonight.

I listened attentively as Jeeves pulled his jacket and hat off and tucked them neatly as ever on their hangers. I didn't watch, but I could practically hear the shimmering as he appeared next to me, then sat on the edge of the chesterfield. Strong fingers brushed against my hair. I lifted the arm away to stare up at him. 

"Jeeves," I breathed, the aching at once soothed and irritated by his charming dark eyes. 

"Did I wake you?" he asked quietly, lifting my hand to kiss my fingertips.

"No," I mumbled, staring past him into the darkness again. "I wanted to see you." 

His thumb brushed just above my cheekbone, and I felt a tear that had to have been mine there, though I hadn't felt it escape.

"Jeeves," I sniffed, acutely aware of the tremble in the vocal cords. "What does one do, when in trouble?" 

His eyebrows pressed together the slightest bit. "Are you in trouble, my dear?"

I wish I'd saved that gasper. I could've made useful a stabilizing puff or two, to keep the tears at bay. "I'm not certain," I concluded, my voice barely audible. I grasped tightly at the hand still resting comfortably against my cheek. "I missed you." 

His hands disappeared and materialized against my shoulder blades, pulling me up and against him. There was a pang of embarrassment at being handled when in such a limp and lifeless state. I sniffed at the spot of cologne behind his jaw, a welcome change from cheap smoke. I was suddenly aware of my arms and legs and how much of them there was. 

Tears quietly and without fuss slipped from the eyes. I leaned against him and succumbed to the waterworks that didn't seem keen to end. The way Jeeves had me in his arms was delightful, but I already felt a stir of anxiety. 

"What's on now, Jeeves?" I voiced once I was sure I could do it without shaking like a leaf. 

He thought for a moment. "The Tennessee Waltz. It's noted to be very popular in the American South." 

I nodded wordlessly, listening to the drawling voice of the girl on the record. 

"Sir?" Jeeves whispered, the title a sure mark of bashfulness, a trait of his which I found endearing. 

I ran my mouth and nose along his neck, studying the warmth of his skin. "Yes, Jeeves?"

"Would you dance with me, sir?" 

I nodded again, slightly breathless at the question. We stood together, and we faced each other and briefly wondered what to do until he lifted my arms around his shoulders and rested his palms above my waist. Our foreheads met with a gentle and painless thunk. Somehow this was something we'd never done before. I'd never even seen him dance, although Bingo Little once insisted he was superb. 

I let him pull me along, as there was a notable absence of steps. What we were doing together was a glorified sway, but it was dashed cozy. 

The music swelled in my ears, and I listened to the Southern beazel telling her story.

"Not the jolliest of songs, is it, Jeeves?"

He smiled. "There is a measure of longing to it." 

"I must say I do sympathize with that poor filly," I admitted, kissing the corner of his mouth. 

_I remember the night and the Tennessee Waltz  
Now I know just how much I have lost  
Yes, I lost my little darling the night they were playing  
The beautiful Tennessee Waltz_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> online classes are. horrendous. can u save us britney spears can we be saved


	8. Among A Sea of Foam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ive played myself.

The gait of one B.W. Wooster (yours truly, as it so happens) was more along the lines of a disgruntled trudge than the merry skip which could typically be observed from same. The cause of this mood was my own invention: the trick bag of flour hung precariously over the front door of the Mayfair Gazette publishing office, current place of employment to my old chum Sippy. I'd triggered the trap myself, which had been intended for Sippy's malevolent higher-up and former headmaster. 

The whole wheeze had been sorted out without any help from me, and thus the previously mentioned bag of flour had no place in this tale until it fell upon my own onion as I stepped inside to retrieve my hat, which I had left by mistake. The day so far had proved more than trying. I was annoyed by my own apparent uselessness, as well as the blow of hearing about the mournful end of the corking vase I had purchased a week earlier and, in that time, became rather attached to. Jeeves, in his solution to Sippy's problem, had been forced to shatter the thing beyond repair. No sense in crying over spilled m., I insisted inwardly, but the self-provided reassurance did little to cool the embers of my mounting frustration as I jammed said hat on head, and, ignoring strange looks given by a few employees bustling about, trotted down the front stairs of the publishing office and marched pointedly up to Jeeves, who looked a bit startled but ultimately unsurprised. He hadn't been so hot on my flour prank when I'd pitched it to him. 

A tick appeared just above the left side of his mouth: a sign of the entertainment he took at my whitened and powdery state. I put my foot down. "I should not like to see any merriment made over this sitch, Jeeves," I huffed.

The man immediately re-stuffed himself. "Of course not, sir." He pulled a handkerchief from nowhere. "If you will allow me, sir," he continued, and I resigned.

His hand was efficient as ever as it dashed across the Wooster face. Quick, but gentler than I'd assumed it would be. His other hand cupped the side of the neck, holding me firmly in place while he worked his wonders. His palm was warm and soft, and comfortable enough that it could almost be a lover's touch, if one was so minded. 

His lips twisted disapprovingly as he moved to my jacket. Removing flour with a handkerchief, apparently, was not so simple. It brushed the worst off, but smeared the rest. A thin skin of the white stuff still adorned my cheeks, and a bit had settled into the fabric of the blue stripe Jeeves had dressed me in that morning. 

"Your clothes will have to be washed immediately, sir, to avoid permanent damage," he concluded, folding up the handkerchief and returning it to its mysterious hiding place. He put a guiding hand at my elbow, urging me back to the flat. He insisted that I stand in the hallway to remove my jacket and hat for him to take care of, so no flour would be tracked on the carpet. The bag had coated the curls quite nicely, and I studied the effect in the sitting-room mirror. It looked like I'd been caught in a blizzard.

"A bath should set things right, eh, Jeeves?" I called. He appeared behind me and assessed the damage. 

"The mixing of flour and water, sir, is a troublesome occurrence. Extra attention will have to be paid to make sure the paste is thoroughly removed."

"Well, no problem there," I proclaimed confidently. "Leave it to Bertram. No strand of hair shall be left dirtied."

Jeeves seemed unconvinced despite my confidence. "It will be difficult, sir, to complete this process without the ability of full observation."

I chewed on this idea. "You mean, since I can't see the back of my own head, I won't know when all the flour's been bid adieu?"

"Precisely, sir."

I chewed some more. "What shall we do about this, then?"

Jeeves cleared his throat briefly. "If you will allow me, sir?" he said, quieter and humbler than I'd ever heard him before. This concept was foreign to me, but I supposed Jeeves knew best, as always.

"You know best, Jeeves, as always," I conceded.

He bowed his head a bit like he had been afraid I'd tell him to go boil his head and was utterly grateful I'd said yes. "Thank you. sir. If you would undress, I shall run the water."

I felt rather confident about this proposed idea of Jeeves', until I was standing in a dressing gown in the washroom, suddenly feeling very embarrassed. Jeeves had seen the barest form of the young master nearly every day, although it was usually half out of a suit or in the tub, and he made a point not to stare. Now he'd be able to see me for as long as it took to clean out this flour, which, judging by his explanation of the sticky sort of paste made by the combination of flour and water, seemed like it could be a while. 

Bertram had learned not to be ashamed of the natural state, despite rather harsh comments from aunts, fiances, and even a few doctors that the form was too lanky, pale, and unattractive. Still, though, I was dull and uninteresting compared to Jeeves' bronzed and fit composure. I prayed he wouldn't mind the bright blue veins that ran all along the underside of my skin, or the ribs that jutted out from the torso. 

Jeeves twisted the tap off and turned to give me some privacy as I dropped the gown and sank into the perfectly warmed water. I tried to relax myself and fidgeted around a bit as Jeeves tied on his green apron and laid out a few towels on the ground. He knelt behind me and put a hand on my shoulder, pulling me back to rest the loaf against the rim of the tub. I promptly shut my eyes, feeling that the vulnerability of the situation was too powerful for me to look at him, knowing he was not only looking back, but seeing me. 

"Are you comfortable, sir?" he asked gently, his fingertips still ghosting across my skin. 

"Perfectly," I bluffed. "Just tickety-boo." Because of the closed state of the eyeballs, I couldn't see whether it looked as though he believed me. Perhaps I'd rather not have known at all.

Whether he did or did not, he set to work with a sort of determination in the air. He wet a comb and brushed it very slowly from the roots to the very tips of the hairs adorning the Wooster scalp. I never quite enjoyed combing my hair. It was a prickly, uncomfortable sort of business which I tried to avoid at all costs. It was one of the few things Jeeves didn't challenge me on. 

It was soon clear that the comb would be the only tool involved in this process, and it was a small part of Jeeves' apparent plan, which was painfully slow-moving. There were a few repeat rinsings and combings before I heard him gather soap in his hands and reach down just below my ears to scrub very softly at the short hair there, moving upwards bit by bit. It was liquid soap he was using, not a bar, which I usually preferred when bathing. 

No spot was left untouched by Jeeves' obviously capable hands. I almost wished he had left me to do the lathering alone. It had been a long time, perhaps even many years, since anyone had handled me with such care. Such attention wasn't unwanted, but I was desperate enough that too much was overwhelming. I more than enjoyed Jeeves adjusting my cufflinks and messing about with my tie because it was fleeting enough for me to catch my breath. He'd never touched my skin this way, not in the few years he'd been with me. I wondered briefly how thorough he could possibly get, just as his fingernails grazed lightly along my scalp, sending shivers dancing up my arms.

It was really just a sort of glorified petting, like scratching the head of a cat, but even more soothing. I'd seen Mrs. Little do something of this sort to Bingo on days when they were both feeling particularly nutty about one another. She'd brush his hair out of his eyes and smile, and he would smile back and generally carry on in such a way that made everyone else feel like they were intruders on a special moment. My stomach knotted horribly at the comparison of Jeeves and I to Bingo and his missus. It made it all seem very real somehow, and suddenly everything was too much, from the gentle flow of the water to even the air touching my skin. 

I wrenched away from him and sat up, hunching over and covering my face with my hands. A few rascal tears had already sprung to my eyes, and I was shaking like a bally leaf in a storm.

"Sir?" Jeeves voiced from behind me, clearly shocked. He appeared in front of me and I peeked up at him through my fingers. He wiped his hands on a towel and sat, clearly unsure. "I'm so sorry, sir."

I shook my head and tried to protest, but words failed me. I splashed some water on my face, trying to calm down. "No," I countered once I'd found my voice. "It's all right. To tell you the truth, Jeeves, it's-" I swallowed. "It's been a terribly long time since anyone has touched the y.m. with such a careful hand." 

He nodded slowly. "I understand, sir. I did not mean to overwhelm you." 

I ran my hands over my arms. The water was still warm, but I felt chilled to the bone. "It's been a very long day."

He smiled, just barely. "Would you like me to leave, sir? You may continue on your own, if you wish."

I pursed my lips and thought about it. "No," I decided with a deep breath. "I want you to finish." My heart climbed into my throat. "Please."

Jeeves' smile grew a millimetre or two. "Very good, sir."

I resumed my position, my eyes closed again and waited for him go continue. He fell back into his rhythm almost immediately, this time adding the slightest amount of extra pressure. It was grounding without being overbearing. I let my lips fall open slightly, and worked up the courage to look up at him. 

His eyes were dark and swirling with shades of brown. He seemed at peace, and there was a certain lack of taxidermy in his expression. He smiled down at me, easier and sweeter than I'd ever seen before. I sighed contentedly and hummed a tune quietly in the back of my throat, letting him complete his task. 

I was drowsy, and retired a few minutes after the water had been drained. I slipped into sleep, listening to the sounds of Jeeves closing drawers and shutting the windows. Darkness fell over the room as he flicked the lamp light off, but I wasn't completely gone before he bid me good night and brushed a hand very lightly across my jaw.

I dreamt of nothing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i bet you all weren't expecting angst from this chapter huh? well me neither tbh

**Author's Note:**

> I hate writing in first person but I hate the idea of narrating reg and bertie in third person even more so here we are. 
> 
> I guess these chapters will all be shortish fics taking places at random times in their relationship, in no particular order. 
> 
> I haven't read the books yet, only watched the series with fry and laurie. and if you've seen it you know that it's so hard to keep track of characters other than the main two because the actors and lore is always changing so I am not fact checking a single thing. I'm making it up as of go and this is solely for my own enjoyment and projection purposes. I doubt any of this will make a lick of sense but that's not my problem. god bless


End file.
